


Lost in Translation

by viyeolent (Doxophobia)



Category: EXO (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Dubious Consent, M/M, MAMA Elements, Mentions of rape and murder, Minor Violence, Royalty, TribeAU, age gap, sex with a minor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-30
Updated: 2016-05-30
Packaged: 2018-07-10 23:07:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,010
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7011901
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Doxophobia/pseuds/viyeolent
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After Baekhyun turned a ripe fourteen, he saw fire. Fire was all there was—and never before had he seen it submit to a man.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lost in Translation

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! Although this is complete by itself, this also serves as a part/prequel of a work-in-progress. I fell in love with this prompt and was excited to see it available again <3
> 
> That aside, I would like to thank the mods of this fest! Without you, there would’ve been no prompter, no prompt, and no fic. Thank you very much for your patience and hard work. Thank you for letting me claim this prompt this late into the fest, as well. Thank you, thank you, thank you.
> 
> Thank you to the prompter too, of course. I apologize this may not be at par with what you have envisioned it to be and that I have deviated from the prompt, but I hope it still entertains you somewhat. :D

 

 

> "Mama brought fire into existence, but it burned too bright, it burned too much.  
>  Fire would have consumed the world She created out of love...  
>  so She let it burn until the only choice was to burn no more.  
>    
>  Then—  
>    
>  Then Mama created light."

 

* * *

**L o s t    i n    T r a n s l a t i o n**

* * *

 

Baekhyun will never forget the day that trumpets blared and the gates opened. He had peeked out of his window and, even though he was miles away from imminent danger, he felt the cold shoot down all the way to his fingertips. It was a pleasant day, with the sun high on the sky, but all his kingdom heard was the knock of death waiting by the door.

 

From his tower, he was greeted by the sight of an army—a ten thousand-strong horse-riders, brutes who were more than eager to take what their humble kingdom could give. That day, Baekhyun greatly feared for his people's safety, but he also felt like his life, with all its futility and individual insignificance relative to the rest of the world, was a joke. The army had worn no armor, had brought nothing else with them. If the rumors rung true, they only held curved swords made out of the bones of the men and beasts they have killed. There were absolutely no steel plates, no shields in sight, and yet the palace had all but risen to a state of the highest alarm.

 

The army, that army that reduced the kingdom's own force of a meager one thousand trained knights and five hundred archers, was but one of the many pillaging tribes of the Il-Yeokan people. The warriors of these people were said to be fire incarnate as they ravaged land, after land, after land. In all the days that led to that moment, Baekhyun had believed that fire symbolized the burning of men and women, that fire was a euphemism for the Il-Yeokans' infamous penchant for killing and raping even beyond the aftermath. That day easily could've been the day Baekhyun lost his home, his family, his people—he could've lost so much. It would've been a hedonistic massacre, it could've been so much worse than what his educated mind could ever imagine, had the Il-Yeokan warriors not been appeased fast enough for the palace to offer a compromise.

 

If you were to ask anyone, anyone at all, then they will tell you that there are only two kinds of people borne in this world: those who have had Mama smile upon them and the rest of creation. The tribes of Il-Yeokan fall under the former, and from Mama's ancient blessing comes an irrevocable and unshakeable pride. While they may have been nomads, brutes, _savages_ , the Il-Yeokan warriors carried themselves with the dignity of men at peace with himself, at peace with whether he were to die today or live to see the morrow. Who wouldn't find it in himself to be brave enough to attempt to conquer the world, if he bore Mama's gift for all to see?

 

The Il-Yeokan were said to have been blessed with the light of creation—with the fire that Mama Herself once used to bestow retribution—and Baekhyun indeed witnessed an inferno. In front of him was the heavens' primeval instrument of justice raging in those men's chests, a searing flame in place of where a heart was supposed to be. The Il-Yeokan burned so bright that one would be reminded of stars—so much of a star's danger that there's little space left to appreciate the sight. If Baekhyun were a poet, he would've found beauty in the way his heart marched and the way he felt the need to catch his breath—he would've found some comfort from the sight of ten thousand stars underneath the sun in the face of his death.

 

But Baekhyun isn't a poet. He's just the king's most favorite son despite being the twelfth in line to a throne that he never really wanted. He had just turned an unfortunate fourteen last week, when the trumpets blared and his father commanded the kingdom's gates to welcome the Il-Yeokan tribe's own king, with the backdrop of an apprehensive kingdom solemnly listening to the haunting tune of A Flame of Hope.

 

All were silent then—even the sky, the ground—as if bowing and submitting to the man atop the fierce, black stallion as they swiftly approached the lavish palace. Baekhyun watched, with his heart in his throat, as the most unbelievable being to ever exist entered the palace gates. The Il-Yeokan leader, their king, he supposed, was a tall man with beautiful eyes and a strikingly handsome face, almost void of emotion save for the mild interest as the man raked in what lay beyond the walls. Their eyes met—very briefly—and for a short moment, Baekhyun felt that he had just looked at the man who could stand at the peak of the world, if he wished.

 

After seeing him, the man with carmine fire for a heart, Baekhyun knew— _Baekhyun believed_ —that there was no such thing as equity, even in the eyes of a loving god like Mama.

 

 

* * *

 

 

That same evening, Baekhyun discovered that a deal had been made—a rather simple one.

  
  
The Il-Yeokan thrive on fire, on battle, on the pleasures of the flesh. From a kingdom known for its light, the Il-Yeokan wanted a light-bearer, someone whose light would not extinguish no matter how many times or how much of it is used. The Il-Yeokan's greatest warrior wanted what all other kingdoms could not offer—someone who could withstand being with him without burning.

  
  
Simply put, the nomadic fire king wanted a mate.

  
  
His father had agreed to this exchange, of course. Only a fool would've done otherwise. What is the sacrifice of one of their people for the rest of the kingdom's safety, for peace with the dreadful Il-Yeokan?

 

Thus, in light of this and for the entirety of the rest of that week's daylight, Baekhyun fidgeted in his plush bed and read more books. There were very few about the Il-Yeokan. Aside from the biased scholar calling them savages, the fearsome tribesmen were only talked about in passing, and all passages were dotted with condemnation for their lifestyle. He ignored the dread blossoming in his chest every time he remembered seeing red in another man's eyes, every time he thought about how, in less than a month, it would be one of them who would leave and belong with that man.

 

Baekhyun _did_  think it wisest to offer someone from the royal family. The Il-Yeokan king's mate could only be the best and only someone from the royal family would be significant enough to ensure that the kingdom upholds its end of the agreement. Being the pathetic twelfth in line, Baekhyun jokingly thought to himself that perhaps, the perfect opportunity had finally come for the palace's crown family to throw him away.

 

In private, he hoped that his jests wouldn't be truth. Especially when he thought of his precious younger brother, the only sibling who had loved him so much all these years, for he could feel his heart break. It did break, little by little. Sehun was still so young and deserved to know the world in his own pace, not by being gifted to a complete stranger to live the rest of his life with them. If the Il-Yeokan wanted the brightest light, Baekhyun knew it was only going to be he or Sehun, for light loved them from birth and they had no mother to defend them from the politics of the royal family anymore.

 

Only he could defend Sehun. If it had to be someone, if the palace truly had no other choice but to make a brute's mate out of one of them, then—Baekhyun desperately prayed—then let it be him. Mama, please. Oh please, let it be him. Let it just be him instead of his little brother.

 

"Hyunnie, I'm wet!" Sehun, _sweet and oblivious Sehun_ , complained about a possible hole in their tower's roof, five days after the man on the black stallion met his eyes. "Ack! Hyunnie, water keeps falling on me!"

 

"There's nothing wrong with the ceiling," the older prince answered as he snuggled his precious brother closer to his chest. "Hyung is just leaking so the water is falling on Sehunnie."

 

"Eh? But why is Baekhyunnie leaking? Are you sick?" Sehun asked, wiggling. "Ah! Hyunnie there's water all over your face!" his brother shouted in worry while rubbing the tears off his face. "Oh no, there's more!"

 

"Oh no, we'll be flooded, Sehunnie!" Baekhyun just laughed even though all he wanted to do was cry. If not for Sehun, all he would have done for the past five years was cry.

 

All he wanted to do was cry to himself because he feared for the half-brother he could be bidding goodbye to very soon. He didn't want the Il-Yeokan to take away his brother, but the only possibility left would be for him to leave Sehun. What kind of brother was he, if he found even the tiniest comfort in either possibility?

 

At fifteen, all Baekhyun wished for was for Sehun to grow up well. He wanted Sehun to reach fifteen and beyond that, even if Sehun growing up meant Sehun would have to learn to live with only the memories of having had an older brother who used to tuck him into bed.

 

"Hyung, please stop leaking! I don't know how to swim yet!"

 

"Oh shoot, you're right! Hyung will stop now so Sehunnie won't drown~"

 

(Mama, would it be too much to ask for you to give Sehun what you didn't give me?)

 

 

* * *

 

 

His father, the king, eventually decides in the fortnight.

 

Baekhyun has always known he held little to no importance in the palace. Having a lowly whore for a mother, no matter how kind he remembers her to have been or how beautiful, makes him the least desirable prince in almost all aspects that matter. He is an eyesore, an embarrassment, a mistake. If not for the light Mama humorously thought to bless him with, he would have been murdered as a mere baby the very moment his late mother begged by the palace doors.

 

His father loved him, this he is sure of. At least, Baekhyun knows the king tried to. There is still no denying the ache in his heart, however, when, during one sleepless night, he comes across the man wearing the crown in the gardens.

 

They keep many fireflies in there, in the gardens. They have many gardens and even more lights, and yet, the dark just seems to become something to be afraid of even more. For someone who is supposed to represent the greatest light of all, the king fears the dark the most. The king has never been the light that Baekhyun needed.

 

"Forgive me," the king, the same man he had numerously been shamed for calling his father, bows to him. "Forgive me for the kind of life I have given you."

 

_Forgive me for not being a good father to you._

 

Baekhyun doesn't say it's okay. He doesn't say he forgives this aged man who is standing before him—for having neglected his mother until she was buried in snow, for having told him to behave like a prince when he had cried because he knew, he _knew_  that she wasn't going to wake ever again—but nonetheless, he nods his head to say he has heard the words and that he has matured enough to understand them.

 

"Be better to Sehun," He answers quietly. It is first and last request.

 

The night he embraces his father for the first time is the same night he says to him his goodbye.

 

 

* * *

 

 

The Il-Yeokan have built a temporary abode outside of the kingdom. Naturally, it made the citizens uneasy, witnessing the so-called savages settle at the other side of the gates meant to keep them out. The sooner the exchange is fulfilled, the sooner the tribe shall leave

 

As Baekhyun carefully slips back inside the chambers he shares with his little brother, he tells himself that this is for the best. Being the beacon instead of anyone else is the best decision the king can make. This is for their people and this is also for Sehun, to whom he whispers sorry for all the birthdays he's going to miss, for all the bedtime stories he won't be around to tell, before he kisses the little prince's forehead goodnight for the last time and tucks his enchanted ring inside Sehun's soft palm.

 

As long as he lives, the ring will hold the light he had contained in it. It'll remind his little Sehun that he has an older brother and that he is somewhere out there. Come morning light, Sehun will be one morning closer to forgiving him for leaving tonight. But for now, now it'll just have to be goodbye. Goodbye to his family, goodbye to his kingdom... Goodbye to everything he believed was going to love him back if given only more time.

 

There is no more time. There is only a man with rubies for eyes and fire for a heart, waiting for him at the palace gates. A man who doesn't return the smile he offers when he tries to appease the drumming inside of his chest.

 

"Good evening," Baekhyun smiles, still, even though the tribesman merely surveys him, visibly more piqued than the way the latter had surveyed his kingdom before.

 

When he smiles, light flows easier through his fingertips, through him. Sometimes, the air around him twinkles. It's something he hasn't learned to fully control yet, he isn't sure whether this warrior can see it right now, but he supposes he's _good enough_  because the latter nods and the fire flickers more brightly, as if able to feel excitement.

 

If Baekhyun were romantic, he would say that he has never really been fond of red before. Red is too vivid, too shocking. It's too dangerous, too bloody. If Baekhyun were romantic, he would say red is a color he would rather be blind to, but the man whose eyes are the color red makes him want to stare, makes him almost grateful to be able to see.

 

If Baekhyun were romantic, he would say his heart leaps when the Il-Yeokan warrior climbs down from the stallion for him, when the man has to bow a little to meet the gaze of he who has to look up. There's a hand under his chin to lift his gaze. The handsome king is tall, very tall. Almost a full head taller than he is. It makes him feel like if the man were to decide to engulf him, the man very well could. The nomadic king is also very strong, and Baekhyun knows this because the Il-Yeokan smoothly heaves him up the stallion, which neighs in slight protest and scares him a little but is quick to submit when its owner hushes and climbs back onto it.

 

Making himself small is an easy thing to do, Baekhyun realizes, when he's in the arms of someone _much_  bigger and someone who has years—perhaps even a few decades—on him. No matter what front he tries to put up, no matter how effective it is, what he is underneath it all hasn't changed yet. He's a boy, he's just a boy who's trying not to be scared of where the stallion takes him, of the man behind him who smells like earth and sun and leaving home as a hand rests low upon his hip.

 

At fifteen, Baekhyun is—had been—a prince, although not quite adored or wanted. He will always be Sehun's loving older brother, no matter how far apart they may be. From now on, he will also be an Il-Yeokan king's mate. It's something he'll have the rest of his lifetime to explore and understand, but as they near the settlement of his mate's tribe, as the man he had first thought of as unreal buries a nose into his hair and tears slip through his lashes, Baekhyun fears he'll be spending his life feeling worse than when his father had let his mother slowly die.

 

The Il-Yeokan warriors' gazes are heavy, scrutinizing. His mate isn't making this new reality any easier to swallow, _to accept_ , by being silent and by running a hand across his thigh. He whimpers at the gesture, feeling confused, shocked, and distressed all in one and tries to distance his clothed back from a hard, nude chest.

 

The king releases a reprimanding grunt before he's being pulled even closer and he tenses at—at desire. A man's desire is pressing against him. Hard and—a-and impossible to deny.

 

Baekhyun.. Baekhyun fears it. He fears the moment the stallion halts and when it stops in the middle of the camp where he can only assume his mate resides. The Il-Yeokan king plucks him off the horse, almost impatiently pulling him off of it, before he finds himself being led towards a tent— _their tent_ , and if at first he could still convince himself to not be afraid of this man, then now, that belief has thoroughly just been shattered.

 

He knew, he had known the Il-Yeokan were salacious, but he hadn't known that it—to this extent—

 

"I-I'm not going to—" Baekhyun whimpers as he is sharply pushed down to kneel and he faces the expectation to let his mouth know another man.

 

The tribe leader frowns deeper at each refusal, intensified by the shower of orange from mounted torch lights. The man, frustrated but still willing himself to be patient, groans something Baekhyun cannot understand.

 

Baekhyun knows nothing about the Il-Yeokan language. He doesn't understand the string of words being spoken to him right now and whether the low rumbling of the Il-Yeokan's deep voice means his mate is angry and believes himself to have been cheated. His new king scowls even deeper when he just _freezes_. The red eyes pierce through him and he freezes right there and then.

 

“I'm sorry, I-I—” He starts to cry, overwhelmed, because he—he doesn't want to anger this terrifying man. He doesn't want the Il-Yeokan to ransack his kingdom and murder his brother—but he—but he also doesn't want this. He _doesn't want_  to do this.

 

He agreed to be a savage man's mate, _he had no choice_ , but now he's—he's just—

 

What does he know about pleasing another man?

 

Baekhyun is not romantic. He's not experienced. There is nothing romantic about being between another man's legs with trembling hands and tears just dripping from his face as if a dam had opened up inside of him, spilling and pouring and gushing until it hurts to blink and breathe. The way he just breaks down at the sight of a hard cock and knowing he's supposed to _have_  it, knowing that _this_  is what he _has_  to do for the man he has been promised to, _for the rest of his years_ —it's shameful, it's pathetic. It's an embarrassment, _he's_  an absolute embarrassment, but he can't bring himself to control the tremor in his hands and the quake in his voice when his fear eats him whole.

 

There is nothing romantic about being newly fourteen and an absolute stranger to sex, about crying because he can't—he doesn't know _how_  to take a cock into his mouth. All trying makes him do is cry some more and gag what's left of his pride.

 

It frustrates his mate, his new king, his _owner_  so much more, because there is no excuse for weeping during a time like this. He's the beacon, he's the mate, _this_  is what the palace and his father believe him to be good for. But it disgusts him so, _so_  much to think that his father, _his own father_ , knew what would happen and _let_  this happen.

 

Baekhyun muffles his sobs when the man with red eyes lets out a noise of dissatisfaction. He's so sure he would get hit, he is so sure he'd get hurt when his king sinks onto the bed and pulls him to perch on his lap. Instead, Baekhyun hears the man say _An'tah na_  as a thumb wipes his wet cheek. He whimpers, trying to distance himself from the fire in the other's exposed chest for fear of being burned, but a hand returns on his hip and keeps him close, very close.

 

The man reminds him that fire doesn't and cannot hurt him. It's almost soothing. _Almost_.

 

_Ku_ , The Il-Yeokan mutters while staring at him with those impossibly red eyes. The man spends a moment doing just that, staring, before tracing his jaw, then his mouth—as if admiring the pink in his lips, but that’s unlikely because it's dark in the tent. It's dark and quiet, and it makes him more sensitive to the body he’s sitting on, on the lap and the hardness he can feel beneath him.

 

An Il-Yeokan's touch is scalding for a boy terrified of a man. Baekhyun knows, he _knows_  when his hips are lifted for him and the breeches covering him come loose, that he isn't going to escape this. He's not allowed to escape this.

 

There's no way he can escape this.

 

"I'm scared," Baekhyun sobs harder, looking back at the man so many years older than he is, at the first man who's going to know him this way—the first man _he'll have_ _._

 

His... His imminent lover only stares back at the new batch of tears, beginning to lean closer to him but stopping himself as an afterthought. _Dayang ku'_ _,_ the man hushedly speaks.

 

"I d-don't understand," Baekhyun answers, almost choking on another shaky sob.

 

The Il-Yeokan sighs. The man says _Dayang_  again in a low and almost quiet voice before his mate… prepares him and presses their bodies together, embracing him and guiding his head to rest in the crook of a neck while thick, long digits prod against his virgin entrance. Whatever the fingers are slathered with, he hisses at its coldness. It—it feels uncomfortable inside of him. He stops crying somewhat, but the whimpering continues as his arms lace over broad shoulders and his legs tremble at the fingers slowly but deliberately entering and leaving him.

 

He feels violated, wronged, but at the same time, the way the tribesman holds him securely without being hurtful and the way the latter nuzzles against him to keep his mind off the discomfort, perhaps, makes Baekhyun conflicted. He takes deep breaths, swallowing the lump in his throat, and doesn't think of the fingers now able to smoothly slide in and out of him. His eyes flit to his mate, wanting the latter to understand him and stop but also fully knowing the man won't, and watches orange dance across the man's features against the dark. The red flickers again—both brighter and darker with want while his own vision only blurs with tears.

 

His pupils blow wide as he cries at the tip of the hardness that stretches his rim. It's—too big—too hard— _and he's so, so scared it wouldn't possibly fit_ _._ When the stiffness pushes deeper, the pain that comes right after is _astounding_.

 

Baekhyun thrashes for the slightest relief, clawing and crying and _writhing_  just for the burning and tearing inside of him to stop. He's too full, too young— _it hurts too much_. The only distraction, the only comfort he gets from having a man inside of him, is a hand on the small of his back, a tighter embrace, and the incomprehensible words slipping out of his mate's lips when he begins to scream.

 

Somewhere between the very fine line where the fire melds with light and pain begins to turn into pleasure, Baekhyun blacks out.


End file.
